All Potions are Drinkable
by I am Sword All-Contort
Summary: A Potions lecture — by an unusually talkative and animated (even somewhat friendly), Professor Snape.
NO. (Every quill became a fly in amber.)

All potions are indeed drinkable, Miss Granger. They would not be potions otherwise.

A silent stare. A moment's pause. No, not this time. He was feeling generous.

All elixirs (when all is said and done) are dry — even the liquids.

All brews bubble — even the solids.

All philters arouse desire — even if it is for discord or filthy lucre. They are still loves, after all.

All draughts are drawn from the cauldron's depths — even when gathering the vapors.

All solutions require dissolving — even the unchanging catalysts. (Though that, I will grant you, IS a tricky notion — not addressed until the second year of NEWTs.)

Pastes must be pounded — even if it is with hummingbird tongues. (Also NEWTs, second year.)

Concoctions are always cooked — even if it is over ice and dragon dung.

Tonics endure extending and stretching — that they might impart the same.

Serums must flow — like blood, like milk, like rivers. There is no preparation that excels Veritaserum in making the truth to flow. Except perhaps fire whiskey. Potions masters still debate.

And essences, ah essences. They are not mere distillations. Every one must BE the very nature of that SINGLE ingredient — even if eighty-three constituents are required to achieve the essentiality. As is the case with Essence of Ancient Oak. (Which explains why it has not been used since Merlin polished the Round Table — on that singular occasion.)

So it is with potions. The Latin pōtiō. DRINK. Though I will grant you a boon, Miss Granger. It is a very common error. We use the term POTIONS to overarch the products of the entire discipline, but in the current context do not allow yourselves to be muddled. Potions, the category, are for drinking. It defines them. What we must remember is that not only humans drink.

The Ink of Midnight is a potion — the most enduring of inks. You would be stupider than any troll to drink it. But just as its mundane cousin, iron gall ink, requires the ministrations of the Cynipidae wasp larva, so the Ink of Midnight requires that drunken European Hornets, _Vespa crabro_ _ **vexator**_ , the magical variety, do much the same — and it is the potions master that sets the little yellow-headed floozies tippling. They have a sweet tooth, you know. Not that that makes them any less inclined to sting and bite at the same time, mind you. But knowing their ways and preferences makes the difference between an ink for student scribbling and an ink for the ages. All it takes is the proper Sweetening Solution (there are twenty) and a light touch with the Unction of Inebriation on the sap, and your oak will be covered with a gallery of galls.

The magical Pedunculate Oak. Do not confuse it with the Pendula (so named for its hanging branches), the Weeping Oak (a muggle cultivar). Using the oak apples (that is another common name for galls) from such a non-magical oak yields only disaster. You will, no doubt, recall that irregularities in the introduction of porcupine quills — [ a satisfying gasp from Longbottom ] are not well-tolerated. All the more with the pygmy porpentine quills that Ink of Midnight requires: they are smaller, sharper (to facilitate the writing of fine lines without irregularities or drips) and imbued with target-finding magic. Arsenius Jigger spent a month in St. Mungo's for having learned that on behalf of all wizardkind. Do not foolishly repeat his — research. It is a terrible thing for a scholar to find himself — derivative. To be both derivative AND a dunderhead is a double disgrace. He smiled at his own poetic flair. Smiled. Actually smiled. Stern again. "And do NOT gather them at Michaelmas. You have been warned."

The magical Pedunculate Oak is a formidable species. The druids were right to respect it. The Great Oak of Ivenack, in the magnificent magical preserve of the united sister-states of Magical Mecklenburg and Grand Pomerania (where it was always given highest regard), is rightly credited with the conservation of so much that was magical and good against the depredations of Grindelwald. By contrast, many of the Great Oaks of Britain — the Bowthorpe, the Minchenden, the Major — have become little more than muggle landmarks due to wizarding neglect. (Imagine letting the muggle queen - Gloriana? Virgin Queen? Morgana's arse. The woman was the sluttiest of the Tudor Roses! — have a picnic under the Crouch. It is no wonder they moved against us.) Of course, there are magical oaks that move, Finnegan. Why else would there be others that are called 'sessile,' hmm? Now close your awestruck gob. [It was clear to everyone in the Potions classroom, except for Professor Snape that is, that Seamus wasn't thunderstruck by the entish tendencies of Pedunculate Oaks. But the Potions Master had already moved on.] One of the great scions of the kind saved Charles Secundus from the Parliamentarians. Hence, Oak Apple Day — with all its magic-adverse observances — which became a blight on every British witch and wizard for nearly two hundred years. It was the same Charles who encouraged the Last Witch Hunts that so diminished our numbers — leading to the Statute of Secrecy (signed AND sealed on January 29, 1689 and 1692, respectively) — and the loss of so much magical habitat and dominion. (If you haven't seen the oaks' strategy by now, you're not — trine. Another smile.) Never trifle with a Pedunculate Oak. Yes, yes; you knew all of that, Longbottom. Well done. One point to Gryffindor if you remain silent. To be sure, matters in Salem and Schwerin, also contributed to the adoption of the Statute, but Magic's Sun (having died at Rome and wisely distrustful of the Continent) had risen in the isles of The West with Merlin. No; the oaks were in the right. Britain's wizards were deserving of — chastisement.

Which reminds me (as a contrast) of St. Neot, second only to St. Mungo, remembered among us for his valiant work to save the merpeople of Cornwall from the Plague of the Black Velvet. Tinworth's world-renowned Hospital for Magical Sea Creatures bears his name, of course. His choice of the Oak of Rocky Places, rather than the Pedunculate which even then was rare in Lyonesse, was (it must be admitted) truly inspired. Even if no one can tolerate the screeching of mermaids ever since.

So it's not all dire. It takes more than magic oak galls, after all, to prepare the Ink of Midnight. The ferrous sulfate options — note bene — are where one finds the room for artistic expression. And since it is the lesser iron that grounds the magic — and makes the writing impervious not just to water, but to water pixies as well (and the various, nibbling lesser wood sprites that are too stupid to tell the difference between paper and parchment) — one is spoilt for choice.

Anciently, the naturally occurring copperas (also called the flower of copper and the water of copper, depending on whether it favored the rozenite or melanterite presentations — the latter being almost half water by weight) was all that was used for the iron and sulfur needed to bind any number of tannins to the potioneer's purpose. But, it was Eumenes, wizard-king of Pergamum (and the father of magical parchments) who inaugurated the true craft of writing with magical potions by his introduction of the use of pyrite. It was the only logical step considering the magically exhausting processes of papyrus preservation. Yes, Miss Patil. I saw the Lumos going off behind your eyes. The magical peoples of the Nile, the Yangtze and the Indus, all favored paint on stone for this very reason. One point to Gryffindor. And one point to Slytherin, Mr. Zabini — don't pout Miss Greengrass — it is unbecoming and (I miss nothing) you did NOT have the same insight as your classmates I have already awarded — Mr. Malfoy. For reasons both chemical and magical, parchment and iron-sulfur-tannin ink were, and still are, the only viable choice for magically writing anything beyond ephemera. But what must be remembered is Eumenes' shrewd insight: that the parchment _dr_ _i_ _nk_ _s_ the ink. That is what led to a tradition of innovation that continues to this day.

Green Vitriol. Cotton Iron — what muggle mineralogists call siderotil. There were even flirtations with Blessed Hematite and Brimstone (trading off the sympathetic magical appeal of the single sea-green ferrous sulfate for the separate alchemical allures of pure dark iron oxide and the bright yellow, red and blue of burning sulfur). A Midnight Ink of this type is still used today by the Wizengamot for legal instruments that must be imbued with a sense of righteous indignation and swift, sure justice — such as arrest warrants and trial verdict decrees. And the occasional very effective letter to the editors of the Daily Prophet. Otherwise, Kentish Marcasite is used by the Ministry of Magic for all official communications and publications; except when the more elegant Chalcopyrite is needed — for proclamations, charters and, lest we forget, the writs for the Orders of Merlin.

Of course, funerary magics require that the Ink of Midnight be prepared, not from the oak, but with pomegranates, which provide ellagic, rather than gallic, acid — a weightier constituent, more appropriate to the morbid and moribund gravities — and the mournful musing odes — and melancholy humors. Eulogies, magical wills and the labels under prophecies often use this sort of ink. I have heard that in some of the old families, the leftover coffin nails of one generation provide the found iron for the inks of the next. But that is just hearsay.

And goji berries have been used in Ink of Midnight for centuries by the magical communities of Asia — in their calligraphic applications that are so effective as lycanthrope wards. Unicorn mane, Chinese Unicorn (the _sin-you_ , not the _qilin_ ) is the preferred applicator, I believe. They also have an alchemical tradition that conjoins silver with the requisite iron, providing not only the usual benefits of the silver but lunar luminance as well. Far superior to _ithildin_ — and significantly cheaper as well. Oriental ingenuity.

I leave it to you to learn the traditional choice of potion-ink for betrothals. A potion-crafter's hint: "drink deeply, oh lovers." Clever and amusing, but still possessing some authoritative claws, so to speak. The ancients did have quite the sense of humor — no matter what Libatius Borage has to say about it. Also, you might want to consider why it is that every magical method of permanent recording engages the order Hymenoptera.

And then, for another three-quarters of an hour, he lectured at dizzying speed on bees, wasps and ants, as well as the magical Symphyta and how they differ from lacewings and the other magical Chrysopidae in the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. It was mesmerizing, amusing, terrifying and exhausting all at once. And no one left the room with even a spare scrap of parchment.

That was — unique — among Potions lectures, Hermione thought, leaving the dungeon classroom, never imagining that she could be walking toward lunch in any more of a daze. Until Gryffindor's twin terrors, the bookends for all the lost works of Lewis Carroll, came into view.

So, Hermione; sweet —

— clever —

— dependable —

— observant, clever —

— you already said that —

— (it deserves repeating) Hermione. What do you think of our latest creation? Instant Babbling Beverage. Comes in an unobtrusive little sachet —

— just add water —

— or wine —

— or tea —

— or coffee, black just like a certain greasy potions master likes it, right Dobby?

(The shimmering suggestion of a house elf, leaning lazily against Fred's leg as though it were a film noir lamp post acknowledged, Right, oh master of mischief, savior of the great Harry Potter, pilot of the untamed Anglia used to save the great Harry Potter, and friend of the great Harry Potter.)

I taught him that, said George.

Did not.

Did too.

Did not.

Did too.

Would you two stop that! I'm already late for lunch what do you mean Babbling Beverage?

They grinned. They've loved it when they could imbalance her at the neurological level.

Instant. Babbling. Beverage. Powdered Form.

Takes about an hour to kick in —

— (by which time the trail of our guilt has gone Stonehenge cold) —

— but only lasts an hour —

— so its only good for the mid-week single Potions classes —

— but its a surefire winner —

— and worth every one of its three sickle —

— (special for our favorite brilliant Gryffindor bird) —

— price.

Silence. More silence. Big, wide Hermione smile.

"It's you two that are brilliant. Mad as magical Scots dormice —"

— "named Mallymkun" offered Fred —

— "and Hassel" added George —

— "of course, but brilliant. Sign me up for next Thursday," she finished. Too happy at the prospect of next week's Babbling Snape to notice that she hadn't missed a beat this time.

"Happy to, Hermione love. But don't you think it might be a bit too soon," George queried.

Not at all. I think he enjoys it. You added a Highclere holly berry, didn't you? It certainly brings out his pent-up ebullience, but I think it inclines him to excessive alliteration. I'm starved. We can talk tinctures over lunch - and I can give you my observations.

The twins shared a knowing glance. They were going to have to pay even more attention to this one.

Author's Notes:

Researching this was wickedly time-consuming, but Severus Snape is a character so naturally waspish, so thorough and so perfectionistic — this was just begging to be written. And he is SO good at making potions, so passionate about them: I mean, really, "bottle fame, brew glory, put a stopper in death" — ? — the guy has issues, for certain, but he IS a natural. This is a wizard that needs very little encouragement to burst forth in a flood of Potions Knowledge Wealth.

And the Weasley Twins, Lords of Chaos that they are, have an instinct for spotting this sort of opportunity — especially since, for all practical purposes, Snape IS a git (canon notwithstanding). And Dobby's extravagant loyalty to Harry is perfect for their unique brand of harmless exploitation.

And Hermione is infinitely clever and quick on the uptake — as always.


End file.
